


Escape from the Embassy

by Cantatrice18



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Damsels in Distress, Gen, Missing Scene, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Brelas awaits torture at the hands of the Thalmor, thanks to Erikur's unwanted advances. She receives help from a most unexpected source.A rewrite of the Thalmor Embassy party, told from the point of view of the hapless serving maid.
Kudos: 9





	Escape from the Embassy

Damn all men, with their roving eyes and abhorrent needs. Brelas winced as the chains bit cruelly into her slender wrists. Things had gotten out of hand so quickly, it was all a blur. One moment she was serving drinks, the next politely fending off a Thane’s advances. She’d expected Erikur to retreat and nurse his wounded pride once she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested. She hadn’t expected him to come back for a second round or involve the party’s host when he was denied again. Brelas had begged Elenwen for understanding, but few Thalmors bothered to learn the subtle art of “mercy”. With Erikur’s gloating chuckles still ringing in her ears, she’d been dragged to the interrogation chamber, chained to the wall, and left to await the chief interrogator’s twisted punishments. She’d heard rumors of this dungeon, of how no one left it in one piece. The smell of blood and scorched flesh was enough to make her stomach turn. How could this have happened, when all she’d wanted was to be left alone? A tear fell to the straw-covered floor, then another, as Brelas began to sob.

A rattling at the lock made her jump and look up A moment later the cell door swung open, revealing a young man in elven armor, a pair of lockpicks in his hand. His face was vaguely familiar, and she thought back to the party. After Erikur’s first advances failed, the young man had come over to her and asked to help. She’d instructed him to persuade Erikur that she wasn’t interested in a tryst. Judging by the way things had turned out, the young man’s efforts had backfired. “What did you tell him?” Brelas demanded of the intruder. “Why did you do this to me?”

The man only knelt by her side and began to pick the locks on the manacles binding her. “Come on, you’d better get out of here,” he said quietly as the last lock opened and she fell to the floor. 

Brelas struggled to stand – her legs had cramped in the hour since the Thalmor guards had brought her down. “Th-thank you,” she managed. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“No time,” the man grunted. “Follow me if you want to live.”

Speechless, Brelas obeyed, trailing the man out into the hallway. A half-naked prisoner waited by a trapdoor, and she could see the corpses of guards and one unfortunate servant lying prone on the floor. “Gods,” she whispered. 

The two men ignored her. The man in armor knelt and unlocked the trapdoor, then swung down into the darkness. The second man followed, leaving her to take up the rear. With one last look at the interrogation chamber, she murmured a silent prayer to the Bosmer gods to protect her, then clambered down the ladder herself. 

Her feet landed on ice and hard-packed snow. The men were already forging on ahead into a dark passageway, so she hurried to follow, the chill seeping through her sensible leather shoes. She shivered as they emerged into a cave, then gasped in horror. All sensation of cold was forgotten as an enormous troll lumbered toward them. She felt a hand grasp her shoulder and shove her down into an alcove. The armored man withdrew a shining sword from its sheath, a blade that glittered with fire along its length. He wielded it with deft skill, striking the troll twice across the chest before plunging it deep into the troll’s heart. The beast let out a howl as it fell, life’s blood pouring from its wounds. The armored man ignored it, instead turning his attention to the shirtless prisoner who now lay spread-eagled on the ground. Brelas crept closer and saw an ugly slash across the man’s pale torso. He was not moving, and no rise and fall of breath could be seen.

The armored man shook his head, then stood, turning to look at Brelas. It took all her willpower not to shrink back beneath his gaze. She could not be certain, but from the way he fought and the bravery he’s shown, she suspected him of being the Dragonborn. Certainly it would explain his interest in the Thalmor embassy. He was the Dragonborn and she was a serving girl having the worst day of her life. She accepted his hand nervously and he pulled her to her feet. “Follow,” he instructed, and led the way over the icy terrain toward a light at the end of the cave. Brelas obeyed and stayed close at his heels, ignoring her surroundings as best she could. When they finally emerged from the cave she blinked in the morning light. She must have spent more time in her cell than she’d thought. “Wait,” she called as the armored man strode away. “Where to now?”

The man looked back at her in surprise. “Home, I’m assuming,” he said lightly. “You’re from Solitude, I expect.”

“I can’t stay here,” Brelas replied, aghast. “The Thalmor will find me. They’ll torture me to punish me for my escape, or to find out about you—not that I would tell them a thing, Dragonborn.”

The man seemed utterly unsurprised by her use of the title, confirming Brelas’ suspicions. He frowned thoughtfully. “True enough,” he conceded. “Have you any family?”

“No, sir,” Brelas admitted, and indeed it was the truth. Her sister had died in a fire over a year before, and her parents were long gone.

“No, er, lovers?” he asked, and she was pleased to hear a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

“None,” she confirmed.

The Dragonborn sighed. “Very well then. Follow me, and stay close.”

She did as he asked, following close on his heels. For a man in full armor, he moved swiftly and with very little noise. She thanked her Bosmer blood as she wove through the trees behind him, grateful that millennia of forest-running wood elves had lent her body speed as well as stamina. Even so, she was out of breath by the time they reached the main road and the edge of a small farm. The Dragonborn brought her past a carriage with a sleepy-looking driver, then around a corner where they could talk in private. “Listen to me closely,” he instructed. “This carriage will take you to Whiterun. It isn’t the fastest way, but it should be the safest. I know the driver, and he’ll see to it that you’re fed along the way. Once you reach Whiterun, go to a house called Breezehome and speak to my Housecarl, Lydia. Tell her everything that’s happened, and she’ll see to it that you’re settled with steady work and no more boorish Nords to worry about.”

“But—why?” Brelas asked in amazement. “Why do all that for me?”

The man’s smile was almost wistful. “I couldn’t bear the title of Dragonborn if I was the sort to leave damsels in distress. I owe you for the scare I gave you back at the embassy. If it weren’t for my meddling, well, that Erikur might have just given up on you and left you alone. I made things worse.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Brelas said reassuringly.

“Didn’t I?” asked the Dragonborn, one brow raised. “In any case, we’re here now, and I won’t see you suffer any further on my account. So take the carriage, find Lydia, and be well.”

He led her back to the waiting carriage and helped her in. “Be well, Brelas,” he repeated, after handing the driver a pile of sparkling gold septims. “May Azura watch over you, and may we meet again one day.”

“Thank you,” Brelas replied, feeling rather shy. “I hope we’ll meet again, too.”

He smiled and took a step back, letting the carriage driver crack his reins over the waiting horses’ backs. As the carriage lurched forward, Brelas turned to see the armored man watching her go, an odd expression on his face. Brelas kept him in her sight for as long as she could, until the carriage crested a nearby hill and he disappeared from view. Then she sank down onto her seat, the exhaustion of the night overwhelming her. She closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep. Her last thoughts were of the mysterious warrior and his fiery sword. Just as the darkness took her, she heard her own voice murmur, “Gods’ speed, Dragonborn.”


End file.
